


Loose Soil

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, SPOILERS FOR 03x16 RAM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wooden shovel handle was hard and cold in his hands, slowly warming the more he dug. Rough splinters dug into his gloved hands, through the fabric and into his skin but he didn’t stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Soil

**Author's Note:**

> God damn the new episode of Person of Interest. God damn it so hard. I'm sorry for this.
> 
> IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN 3x16 - RAM then there are spoilers. You are fairly warned.

The wooden shovel handle was hard and cold in his hands, slowly warming the more he dug. Rough splinters dug into his gloved hands, through the fabric and into his skin, but he didn’t stop. His back ached, his hip had begun to burn, and his legs were shaking from exertion. Harold Finch was digging a grave for the first time in his life and he was absolutely miserable. 

He’d attempted to talk to the corpse laying on the ground to his right. Finch apologized over and over again, trying to explain himself. He had never anticipated that the mission would have ended like it did. Yes, the people Finch had given the Machine to were dangerous, but this was a different level. There were more players in the game. He had always assumed he’d be the one to die, but instead the man hired to do everything he couldn’t was lying on the ground, dead and cooling. 

Finch blinked through the tears that were a result of his deep sorrow and the pain from digging into the cold, hard dirt. The grave needed to be at least six feet, from what little he understood about the art of grave-digging. So far he’d managed maybe three feet and was already beginning to tire. Even so, with trembling arms he continued to dig the grave. He owed Dillinger that much. 

Yes, Dillinger had betrayed him. His employee had decided to cash in on a bigger payday and end their working relationship. Even with those facts floating in his head, Finch couldn’t accept that Dillinger had been solely responsible for his own death. Finch had been the one to put him in the middle of it all in the first place. The operation had been exposed; Dillinger had been put in harm’s way without full disclosure. Harold had worked so hard to surround their mission with lies that bled together and created a wall around him and the Machine, he had forgotten there was a living, breathing human being working for him. 

As he dug the grave he vowed to never lie to any future partners, lest they end up dead like Dillinger. 

It took him well over two and a half hours to dig the grave because he needed to stop frequently the deeper the grave got. At one point he was five feet down and just sat on the cold soil and wept. His tears were for Nathan, for Grace, and for Dillinger. Somewhere along the way he had lost sight of his purpose. What was the point of life and of saving other people’s lives when he couldn’t share it with anyone without putting their lives in danger? Was he really saving anyone at all? 

He closed his eyes as tears fell down his cold cheeks, and conjured a picture of Nathan right before the explosion, Grace’s panicked face as she realized Harold was not among those alive after the explosion and Dillinger’s face when the man pointed a gun at him and scolded him for keeping secrets. When he was done crying he steeled himself and finished digging the grave, barely able to scramble out of it when it was complete. 

Another half hour was spent getting Dillinger’s body into the grave and burying him. When it was all said and done, Finch stared at the pile of loose soil and wondered if someone would eventually find the body. No doubt the police would search the area when they discovered the dead Chinese on the road. At least Harold had tried. 

“Finch?” John’s concerned tone broke Harold out of his train of thought and the older man realized his eyes were damp with unshed tears. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and stared out one of the windows in the library. The last thing he needed was for Reese to see him crying as the present day wrapped itself around him once again, leaving the memory behind.

“Mr. Reese.” Finch’s tone betrayed him as his voice wavered and the tears finally began falling down his pale cheeks. His shoulders trembled with repressed sobs. Harold flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder but turned as Reese guided him. 

“Harold.” John smiled sadly and rested a warm hand against Harold’s wet cheek, wiping tears away with his calloused thumb before he pulled him into a strong embrace. 

There were a lot of things Harold wanted to say and do. He wanted to push John away and say he was fine. Harold wanted to tell John to get out, to run, to leave and never look back. People near Harold died and that was the last thing he wanted for the former operative. Instead, he lost himself in the embrace and cried against his friend’s chest. 

It felt like an eternity before he began reassembling his self control. All the while, John whispered to him softly, insisted that it would be okay and rubbed Harold’s back in a way that was equal parts comforting and embarrassing. The tears stopped eventually and he could breathe again. He took a step back as the other man loosened his grip. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked. 

“No. No particularly, Mr. Reese.” Harold replied as he walked over to his desk and grabbed a tissue, blowing his nose. He then removed his glasses and wiped them off with a soft cloth he kept on his desk.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” John volleyed back and Finch knew he wasn’t going to get away with brushing it off. His friend cared too much. 

“If you insist.” Finch relented and tried to compose himself, wondering just how red his face looked and how tired his eyes were. 

“My apartment, then. I’ll make tea.” Reese offered Finch a sheepish half-smile he couldn’t resist. 

“That is acceptable.” Harold answered and allowed John to lead him out of the library and away from the memories. 

He quietly hoped he’d never have to dig a grave for John.

**Author's Note:**

> This episode hit me when I was already feeling emotional and watching Harold, our beautiful injured baby, dig a grave just did me in. Can't even.
> 
> ps. I'm on [tumblr](http://rdlenix.tumblr.com/) if you want to keep up with what I do when I'm not writing fanfiction.


End file.
